Livin in a Van Down by the River, that vintage Chris Farley SNL skit, still makes me laugh.
We spank in a van down by the lake sometimes. It’s beautiful there, a fishing spot, but with a large parking lot. People keep their vehicles well spaced and no one ever approaches any one else. M’s van has darkened windows.
M is my top. She’s a talented, creative, resourceful top but she can’t do much about the fact that she lives in a nice house with her non-spanky wife and I live in a nice house with my non-spanky husband but for their own reasons neither of our spouses leave the houses very often, so she and I don’t get to use the houses for our play.
We make do.
I had decided I couldn’t live much longer without being spanked with the short cane in the diaper position. Doesn’t that sound full of shivery possibilities? Here’s some of the logistics before the shivering can start.
We needed the van folded down flat in the back and to do that you have to take the two backest seats out, which M can’t do by herself. So she had to think up a story to tell her neighbor when she asked for help,
and be sure that story would work on her wife who has been known to wander into the garage occasionally in search of the van.
I would bring the short cane and make sure to take it back with me. It’s the only implement we have that isn’t an ordinary household item, because as SS himself has alluded to a couple of times, you can explain a hairbrush in your car. You can explain a wooden spoon or a
belt. You can’t explain a cane. You don’t want to have to be trying to do that.
And then the juggling of schedules and setting the time to meet and resetting the time to meet. But at last the day arrives and it’s perfect, beautiful outside and M picks me up at the bottom of my driveway where I am waiting, twirling my cane.
We drive to our spot, no one in the parking lot, I can make a little noise. Yeah! She gets out and goes around but I dive between the front seats and splay myself on our flat floor. Not a lot of time for ceremony. She bares my bottom and says “lift your legs” like she needed to tell me. I can feel that white heat across the tops of my thighs, that’s where she’ll start, I’ve been feeling it in my dreams for a week.
I feel a bad pain. Not a good cane pain. A pain that shoots from my left hip up under my shoulder blade. I say a bad “ow.” M says, “that was not a good ow.”
“I can do it,” I tell her, “give me a second.” But though she has folded a comforter under my hips no matter where I position my legs or my hands holding them, that niggling hip pain keeps warning of much worse pain to come.
I’m so disappointed. M says let’s try this. She turns slightly so I can brace my legs against the side of her back. But after a few exploratory strokes I can tell it’s too much pressure on her left leg sitting like that and it’s awkward trying to get a good swing. She tries holding my ankles with her left hand but though she has good upper body strength when I jerk I’m tipping her off balance. Nothing works. Canus interruptus. It’s the worst.
“It’s okay,” M says, “it’s alright, roll over.” She lays on her side beside me and spanks me with her hand, stopping to finger me gently, then spanking again. It’s not for orgasm it’s to make me relax and I do. “You gotta laugh,” she says.
And you do. Even when the hottest thing you thought you could imagine turns into "Lucy and Ethel Attempt Diaper in a Van."